The Deceased Returned
by MadameMorganLeFay
Summary: "The dead remained dead until they chose otherwise... Until they decided to seek their revenge... Until they had the chance to vindicate themselves..." Mordred is haunting Merlin, literally and figuratively. Is Merlin imagining things, or is there more to the plot...?
1. The Deceased

**THE DECEASED RETURNED**

**SIR MORDRED, KNIGHT OF CAMELOT**

* * *

_"__Yes, your sins have caught up with you, Emrys…"_

A jar of water lay shattered and unnoticed at Merlin's feet, and a spell book was splayed all over the puddle. His mouth tried to move- to no avail. Instead, he resorting to taking baby steps back into the safety of his room, presumably to wake up once more and find that the ghost of Sir Mordred was not lounging against Gaius' workbench, glaring at him and chewing viciously at an apple.

Merlin was not a man who was easily frightened; contrary to popular opinion, he could drop everything and face the wildest beast at a moment's notice. So why he was actually quivering like a small child was beyond his humble understanding. Why his mouth hung open and is eyes bulged in their sockets was equally mysterious. Mordred's opening words had sent a prickly chill down the back of his spine and beyond; he could hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest like a hammer at nails in Sir Elyan's forge…

He ran to his tiny bedroom and slammed the door shut.

Meanwhile, Mordred simply smiled and rose…

When Merlin rushed out of his room like a gust of wind moments later, he nearly tripped down the steps in his haste to escape- for Mordred had materialised through his door and surprised his fellow sorcerer with a frigid blast of breath against the neck. Merlin now realized that there was no hope in burying his head into sweet oblivion. He was dealing with the real ghost of the very man he had allowed to die for King Arthur's sake.

Call it revenge, call it—

"-a high-pitched scream like a girl, Merlin!"

When his eyes swung back into focus, he found Arthur peering through the doorway, both amused and concerned. Just typical of his good fortune, to strike now when he was unnerved and unfocused. He could never thank his Lucky Stars enough…

"Sire- I… uh, I… I think I saw a rat…"

Anything else he might have said was drowned out in a contemptuous laugh- but at least Arthur left him alone after that. Dealing with the mockery later was not an insurmountable obstacle. All he needed to do right now, was deal with the small matter of an undead intruder in Gaius' chambers and then he would be ready to begin his utterly ordinary day as usual. So… He peered round his shoulder carefully and recoiled violently as his eyes found Mordred's once again.

"What… do you want?"

The willowy, silvery phantom shrugged before chucking his apple core into the fireplace.

"I don't know, really. Revenge, I suppose. I came fully prepared with a long, ominous speech- if you'd like to hear it?"

"Be my guest!"

"As obnoxious as always, Emrys…" Was there a note of sadness in his tone, Merlin wondered with a stab of guilt. That was quickly repressed when he remembered he had just been called "obnoxious"- an allegation he deeply resented. "I could exact a terrible revenge on you, but then I remembered you are the greatest warlock this land has ever known ad lib. You will of course appreciate my reluctance to exact punishment on a man who might harm me…"

"You are so kind…"

"Anyway, I decided that rather than conveniently deal with you myself, I would use my new-found powers to haunt you- that is to say, I wish to be a reminder of how you have wronged me for the indefinite future."

"You… you what?"

"You heard me, Emrys." Mordred's tiny smirk had disappeared entirely, a small hint of playfulness now completely overshadowed by a mask of cold fury. "When you left me to die in that Cave, you played the final straw. I was sick of holding my tongue whilst you glared at me, tried to turn Arthur against me and bury my name in the mud- and all for what? What was it, Emrys? You never said- and how convenient for you that I should die before ever granting me the truth! You are a scoundrel, Emrys- and a murderous one at that. I have watched your movements since the Cave of Venyth; not once did you show any remorse for my death! Well, by the time I have finished raking your conscience, you will be pleading for my clemency- and then we shall see whether you deserve it…"

"You're- you're mad… I could kill you with a flash of my eyes, you… Stay away from me, Mordred! I'll- I will tell Iseldir, I'll-"

"-How about explaining to the King of Camelot exactly who you are talking to?"

Merlin whirled round to find Arthur back in the doorway fixing him with a look that he just knew would not be willed away by a decoy rat…

* * *

"So you mean to tell me, you are taking up part time work as… a troubadour?"

"Y-Yes, sire. A troubadour- or a travelling minstrel- whichever pays more…"

"And… you were rehearsing your lines just then? To Mordred- who… died a week ago. Rather in poor taste, don't you think? Making a mockery of the dead?"

"No- you've got it all wrong, I was just…"

"—Find something better to do with your time, Merlin. I know you disliked the boy greatly; doesn't mean you have to be so cruel about his demise."

"I wasn't being cruel—look you have no idea what-"

Arthur was already turning back into the corridor, apparently having heard enough from his manservant. Frantic pleas did nothing to make him hear Merlin out afresh.

"Yes, yes; I am perfectly aware you have an array of odd habits. I suppose I should just be grateful I didn't find you in a dress or reading leaves. And for the sake of our friendship, I will overlook your comment about killing someone with a flash of your eyes…"

Merlin fell silent instantly, froze in his steps. Perhaps Arthur noticed, perhaps he didn't; either way the former found himself on the receiving end of another "look"- this time more shrewd and introspective than the last. It was the kind of expression that raised more questions than it answered, that was enough to bring his jittery nerves to the edge of insanity. Quickly, he broke eye contact and muttered about cleaning up the floor- an easy decoy to feign the appearance of being busy.

He can't know… he just can't…

_"__Dear oh dear, Merlin,"_ a silky voice whispered in his ears, icy breath tingling down his neck; _"Tut tut tut- first speaking ill of the dead, and now losing precious hold over your beloved secret! How careless of you!"_

He ground his teeth together and continued to scrabble about with some scrolls, aware of both Arthur's presence in the immediate vicinity and of Mordred itching to provoke him. It was alright; he would ignore the two of them, and just… order Gaius' papers. The old man needed a little help, and wasn't the tidiest of people- or was that him?

_"__Yes, it's you, Merlin…"_

"Stop it!" he hissed under his breath, nudging thin air in an attempt to bat away the deceased Knight.

"Merlin, are you feeling alright?"

"What? Yes! Yes, fine! I thought you were leaving!"

"Well excuse me for asking after your welfare! I repeat, is there something wrong? Something you want to tell me about?"

_"__Confide in him, Emrys; tell him how you murdered me, how you lied to him about the causes of my untimely demise…"_

"Nothing. I am fine, so just-"

"One of your books has fallen onto the floor," Arthur pointed out after a poignant silence. "Looks like it's wet- maybe you should be worrying about that, instead of pretending to organise Gaius' scrolls. God knows you are the most untidy man alive…"

"I may be an underachiever in your eyes, but I do have eyes, my Lord. I noticed."

_"__Oh, temper, temper, Emrys! That is no way to speak to your best friend! He is only looking out for you, like the decent man that is he is. More than can be said for yourself- definitely more than you deserve…"_

"Right… You noticed. Again, apologies for pointing that out. Well, when you are ready to keep a civil tongue in your head, I expect to see you in Court this afternoon. No excuses."

Merlin was not long in picking up the coldness in Arthur's voice- and if he had been a little less preoccupied, he would have been rather upset about it. But how could one think when being… harassed by a- a phantom in this manner? He could feel drops of ice at the base of his neck, could hear unearthly laughter floating about in his head, could literally see the hairs on his neck standing to attention. He was trapped in every way possible, and it was horrible- just horrible. So he had allowed Arthur to stalk off without so much of a word of apology as he would have done and used the time instead to curse Mordred with the foulest phrases he could think of.

"Call me whatever you wish, you still have blood on your hands…"

That had silenced him. He hadn't had much occasion to ponder upon what he had done- hadn't allowed himself to. If he really wanted to relive that memory, it would only be to recall the bare and brutal facts before dowsing them in the same old justification; Arthur.

"—Yes, Arthur; the be all and end all. It never matters whoever you tread on in order to protect your friend… Yet I wonder whether he would approve of how you manipulate and decide for others for his sake…"

"You know nothing about that! You know nothing of how… how hard it is for-"

"Here comes the tale of woe once more… Please, spare me the details. Tell me, Emrys, Sir Leon protects Arthur, does he not?"

"What of him?"

"For all Sir Leon's zeal, did you ever see him attach himself to the King in such a possessive manner? Surely if he were as committed as yourself, he would have damn near choked Arthur to death with over-protectiveness?"

"Defending Arthur from the likes of yourself is not being overprotective!"

"Really?" Mordred hissed, whipping up another gust of wind around the warlock to the point where Merlin fighting to pretend he wasn't shivering. "Is that so- the "likes of me", did you say? And what of me? What have I ever done wrong to you?"

"Y-You w-wouldn't u-understand… Stop that!" The tips of his fingers were turning an ugly shade of blue.

"I will stop it when I have an answer from you, when I have a response that justifies luring me into the Cave of Venyth and leaving me in Morgana's hands… Was it satisfying, Emrys? Did you enjoy watching Morgana's eyes gleam with triumph as she closed in on me, step by agonising step? Did you wish you heard her victorious words as she reminded me what happened to traitors? Did you relish the sound of her voice as she called out the incantation, bringing down the roof of the cave onto my weak, defenceless body? Were you relieved to watch as I was buried under rubble forever? Were you, Emrys?"

Merlin couldn't answer- not straight away. Instead, he remembered the horrified disbelief on Arthur's face, the mournful silence from the other Knights, the ritual cloak burning on the pyre, the Queen's tears… And his guilt. It had always been there, lingering like a shadow under his strenuous denials. Suddenly, everything was as clear as day; he carried the death of another upon his head- not in the way he had remembered those he had been forced to kill before. Agaravin's demise meant little to him. Yet the man- his kin- whose future was so terrible as to compel him to… manslaughter… Now he realized that his heart was aching from the weight of such a decision.

Mordred- of all people- had shown him.

_"__Indeed, Merlin. And now you are to pay…"_

* * *

**To Be Continued...**

**Spooky? **


	2. The Living

**THE LIVING...**

**...AND THEIR COMPLACENCY**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

A jolt, and Merlin was awake, sweating profusely.

He glanced cautiously to his right… then his left. No one was there.

Only the cloying darkness of midnight surrounded him. So… everything he had just seen had to have been a nightmare- a horribly vivid vision trip that he hoped never to revisit again! _Mordred_… a ghost?! Impossible! The young Knight was alive and well, currently sleeping peacefully inside his Chambers! For once, assurance of Mordred's safety was welcome intelligence- and yet he could still visualize the strikingly identical phantom as though it had been standing right behind him, whistling frosty drops of moisture through his tunic…

There was no way he was going to sink back into the sweet oblivion of sleep after that. He swung out of bed, lunged for his door. Down below, Gaius was snoring heavily, as always; the stability of the noise served to comfort him somewhat, each rumbling sound easing away the tension in his neck. His beloved elderly Physician was particularly attentive at night- anything might have happened, and it would be down to him to investigate… Was there a problem- now? He paused in his doorway, chewing his lips aggressively. After an uninspiring silence, he decided that the answer wouldn't fly to him on a silver platter; only a little night-time trip would solve the problem…

Suited and booted, Merlin tiptoed down the corridors, grazing his fingers against smooth granite walls from time to time to keep his bearings. He didn't take a light with him; attracting the attention of bored guards at night without a suitable excuse would not help his cause. Instead, silver threads of moonlight were enough to help him get around without too much trouble. Now… where to go first? An obvious- and disturbing- solution came to mind- purely based on paranoia, and he saw no point in doing it, of course. If only he could satisfy the quiet tingling in his stomach- could he really ignore his instincts?

With a heavy sigh, he took a deliberate turn into a well-lit corridor. Only one guard loitered about, swigging from a cracked jar- and even then, he looked as though he were about to drop off to sleep at any moment.

_Arthur pays these men too much._

As if to justify the sentiment, the guard moaned and stuffed his hand down his breeches. Evidently, he wasn't expecting anyone, Merlin thought, moving back into the shadows and blocking his ears. All in good time… When it was safe to approach, he found the sated man slumped against the wall, snoring softly and whimpering like a baby.

_Yes, you just keep protecting our noble Knights from intruders, my friend…_

Which door was Mordred's? Quite a few were slightly ajar; Elyan was playing chess with Percival, Gwaine was… Merlin averted his eyes hurriedly. Galahad's door had his name inscribed upon it- (surely that counted as vandalism?), Gaheris (1) was playing a rebec (2)- (lovely melody)… Sir Leon… his uneven breath hitched in his throat as those disembodied words floated into his mind once more:

"_Tell me, Emrys, Sir Leon protects Arthur, does he not?"_

Just… a dream. That was all; and Leon was fast asleep, by the looks of things- his door was closed, after all. Sir Lancelot at his desk reading- Merlin recognised the text as: "The Art of Nobility". Huh- typical.

Where on earth was he? Wild, inquisitive eyes darted from left to right to left again in frustration, even as he was questioning the purpose of this visit once again. He had passed all the doors, surely? He had even taken note of all the lesser-known Chevaliers like the witty Sir Dinadan (3) and Arthur's marshal, Sir Bedevere (4)… Unless the Knight in question was out on an untimely midnight excursion- or dead…

_No! No, he is alive and well- and what is more, I am going to find him._

Not that he was concerned for Sir Mordred of all people, of course.

A soft, strangled sob caught his ears. It was coming from the far end of the corridor, where the golden torchlight grew low and dim. Without a second thought, Merlin made his way towards the source, stopping abruptly by a half-open door, and peered in anxiously…

…then drew back hastily. No! No- how could…?

His eyes made their way back to the crack, settling once again on Sir Mordred huddled by the foot of his bed, tears streaking down his cheeks as he caressed what looked like a lock of honey brown hair between trembling fingers.

It was such an... _unusual_ sight... Merlin was the kind of man who would have to feel seriously threatened in order to dislike someone, and when they did, he could be reasonably sure about their character- cold-hearted and vile, even in the most private of moments. And he was sure that people who sat alone and wept must be suffering- so a malicious someone else had to be at fault. Where people were hurting, he was easily moved to pity. But... here? To see... _Mordred _so inconsolable made little sense; the two images were too difficult to associate with each other…

A strand of hair- nothing more and certainly nothing less. Its length, curvature and delicateness suggested that belonging to a woman. Now what an extraordinary deduction; Mordred- and a woman. So even he had a heart… Merlin could almost have smiled. Who was she? A friend? A sibling? His mother? A… a lover? Wouldn't the latter be a shock- but then, it occurred to him that apart from seeing into Mordred's future, he knew little else about him- not even where he came from, who his parents were, or what his childhood had been like, save the tragic glimpses he had seen over ten years ago...

He realized he did not _understand_ Mordred, even though they were very alike.

On second thoughts, he _could_ understand what women did even to the best of men- didn't he have some memento of Freya's somewhere in his room? Was it the same for Mordred? In which case, he almost felt sorry for the Knight...

Almost.

Still, however good his intentions were, he was still intruding.

"_What are you doing here, Emrys?" _

Merlin cursed harshly under his breath; of all the times to forget that their thoughts were often interlinked!

"Merlin? No offence, but… is there a reason you are, ah, loitering by Mordred's door?"

As if things could not become any more awkward; now how was he to explain himself?

"Gwaine! Fancy seeing you here... And me, for that matter... Funny, isn't it? I, uh… always wanted to see what the Knight's chambers looked like," he confessed with a stupid giggle. _Please swallow it…_

"_Your decoys are the worst. Then again, it isn't easy explaining why you were spying on me just now- what is wrong with you, Merlin?"_

"Riiight… even though I have shown you my chambers before… Fair's fair. Well, now that you are here, you are entitled to an honorary invite, I suppose."

"Invite to what, exactly?"

"Hey, no need to sound so suspicious! Anyway, on the occasional stroke of midnight, I have a special drinking contest with the Knights who are still awake. Interested?"

"Drinking contest? Now? When you have to report for duty tomorrow?"

"Again, no offence my friend, but it is a little saner than creeping around corridors to peer into people's rooms, wouldn't you agree?"

"_He does have a point, Emrys."_

Merlin decided to just let it slide, already embarrassed enough for even conceiving the idea in the first instance. Of course Mordred was alive- whether truly happy was a completely different matter, but he had not been killed in the Cave of Venyth as his nightmare claimed. It was blindingly obvious- hadn't he told himself this before even climbing out of bed? No need to check the boy's welfare- it wasn't as though he even cared very much for him anyway! There had been absolutely no need to conduct this complicated night-time venture, and even less reason to believe that no one else would be awake at mid night. He was a paranoid bag of jittery nerves. No doubt he had earned the strange looks he would be getting from now on.

Leon poked his head round his door.

"Gwaine, do you have to talk so loudly? Some of us are trying to sleep…"

"Please accept my humblest apologies, Curly. Or accept an invite to my drinking contest. How about it, eh? Introduce a little fun into your goody-goody life, hmm? Gaheris is up for it- and Bedevere, isn't that right, my son?"

A noncommittal answering grunt wafted out from a half open door on the right.

"Of course, he isn't handsome enough to be my real son- so the phrase is just a term of endearment, which-"

"—I'll just be heading for bed now," Merlin cut in hastily.

"Is that so? Sure you don't want to see the rest of our rooms? Curly here keeps his cleaner than a young wench, isn't that right, my son?"

"Gwaine, would you _please_ keep your voice down?!"

"Forgive me, dear Curly. Noble doesn't like spots on his table or shirts... Worth taking a peek. Noble's my nickname for Lancelot- and the same goes for Cherub Cheeks, which is my nickname for Mor-"

"I _really_ have to be going now…" Cherub Cheeks indeed. Just wait until Gwaine found out what Destiny had in store for young Mordred; that would drop the nickname right off the list…

"Have it your way; offer's always on the table if you ever come sneaking down here again!"

Merlin pretended he hadn't heard, and scurried all the way back to his rooms, vowing never to give into his whims again.

"_Good night, Emrys. And mind your own business next time."_

* * *

Merlin was never going to be fully satisfied that nothing sinister was going on where Mordred was concerned. Nevertheless, he expected that should this be the case, _Mordred_ or Morgana would be the ones to instigate it. He refused to become complacent, even for the slightest moment, though he had completely discarded his nightmare a week ago. Still, there were times when that tingling malaise would creep up on him at the most unexpected times… yet with nothing to found them on, there was precious little he could do, save keep watching.

A voice interrupted his dilemma.

"Merlin."

"Mordred… What do _you_ want?"

"The King requires your presence in the Court Room immediately. It may have escaped your notice that discussions of the kingdom's security take place almost every day, and your talents would be better served by the King's side rather than… conjuring butterflies out of your hands just because you are alone inside Gaius' chambers…"

Merlin didn't bother to grace the stinging admonishment with a response, but he had no other choice than to obey. He walked back in silence, Mordred's precise stride matching his own, knowing the younger man was pretending to be distracted by his own thoughts. A few times, he made uneasy contact with the other, as though he had something to say- other times, he took to staring at the flagstones below his boots-or the ceiling… whichever would take his mind away from the supremely awkward situation. Soon he was simply counting the number of steps he took, then he was listening to the rhythm of both pairs of boots. A while later, he was counting windows…

"_You missed three windows on the right. That makes thirty two, not twenty-nine."_

"Shut up." Something in Mordred's expression almost had him apologizing there and then. He wasn't a cruel person, even if Mordred brought out the worst in him. All he had to do was remember it was all for Arthur's sake…

"Merlin?"

Talking of whom, it seemed the King had grown impatient waiting for his two men to arrive, had come to seek them out himself… and caught the back end of Merlin's admonishment upon no provocation.

"Sire- sorry I am late, I… uh, I… I think I saw a rat…"

"_Sire- I… uh, I… I think I saw a rat…"_

He was almost quoting his nightmare! And now Arthur was laughing- laughing contemptuously, just as he had in the vision…!

"-Merlin? Merlin! Are you even listening to me? We have a rule of complete courtesy to all the Knights, as I have often reminded you. Merlin? You look as though you have seen a ghost!"

No… no, this was getting too frightening to be simply coincidental…

"I… I, uh, I am fine, my Lord…"

* * *

"… and of course, it is very important that we keep an eye on any movements around those caves that lie on the borders, since we know that Morgana has been sighted in that vicinity more than once. I have reason to believe she may be using the terrain in these places as training ground for a potential army. I have studied several maps, and narrowed down the various caves to those where most disturbances have been reported: they are the Cave of Gedrun, the Cave of Weymouth and the Cave of Venyth."

All colour drained from Merlin's face in a flash. His heart scampered around in his chest… It seemed as though the light around him was fading inch by agonising inch, it seemed as though time was shuddering to a halt- all against a backdrop of chilling laughter, and those dreaded words:

"_I have watched your movements since the Cave of Venyth; not once did you show any remorse for my death!"_

He could hear harsh breaths rushing through his lips, could see his knuckles turn white as snow against the Round Table, could feel sweat accumulating at the back of his neck. Didn't anyone else feel it, too? This… this menace, this prickly, ominous—

"—feeling that you are not paying attention, _Mer_-lin?"

"What? Oh- I… I am listening! I am listening… very hard. Cave of Venyth- haven't heard that name before."

"Neither have I, but sources have reported sporadic disturbances- sightings of armed men late into the night, and it would be remiss of me not to take them seriously."

"Who… who are these sources?"

"Merlin, surely you remember "The Informer Protection Decree" of last month?"

"Ah, yes. Right. It's just… I mean, you should be careful. It could be a trap…"

"Hmm, that is a possibility- but it is one I would rather take, as opposed to having Morgana make her way to our doorstep."

"So… so you are saying we are travelling to the Cave of Venyth?"

"No- if you were listening as hard as you claim, you would have heard me mention that we will only take preventative action should the reports of a disturbance become more frequent. For now, they are merely areas we should focus on. That said, I will dispatch our pursuivants (5) out to investigate very soon."

Well… that was a small relief, wasn't it? Hopefully, if Morgana was feeling in a particularly generous mood, then…

"_...You really do have a great sense of humour, Emrys… Why are you so concerned about the Cave of Venyth? Is Morgana there? Can you feel her presence?"_

Merlin glared at Mordred across the table, berating himself for allowing his usual concentration to slip- who knew what the young Knight could find out when he put his mind to it- so to speak?

"_No more than I can feel your respect for my privacy…"_

"_I was only asking in Camelot's interest- do you ever tire of being so unpleasant?"_

"_Sorry, you always seem to bring out the worst in me…"_

"When you have quite finished glaring at Mordred, Merlin- perhaps you could answer my question? Seriously, what is it with you today? It is like you are miles away!"

"Apologies, Sire- what were you saying?"

* * *

"_Yes, your sins have caught up with you, Morgana…"_

A healing bracelet and bone clasp lay unnoticed at her feet. Her mouth tried to move- to no avail. She fumbled around on her bedside table, searching for a candle. Surely the golden, soft buttery hues of candle light would chase away the shadows, she could pretend that the... the ghost of Sir Mordred was not lounging against her wardrobe, glaring at her and picking at a bunch of grapes...?

Morgana was more easily frightened than people liked to think. The five kingdoms only saw a malicious woman who could command armies of the dead- they never saw the Morgana that had to look over her shoulder at every turn, the Morgana who lived under the weight of a chilling curse- her doom at the hand of the one they called Emrys… And now she was face to face with the very man she had killed in the Cave of Venyth? How could that be? Who had done this- who was conspiring against her?

With a strangled cry, she clambered out of bed and dashed into the hallway outside.

Meanwhile, Mordred simply smiled and stood straight…

When Morgana rushed back into her room like a gust of wind moments later, she nearly tripped and fell on a rug- for Mordred had materialised through her door and surprised his fellow sorcerer with a frigid blast of breath against the neck. Morgana now realized that there was no hope in burying her head into sweet oblivion. She was dealing with the real ghost of the very man she had allowed to die for her sake.

Call it revenge, call it—

"-a small scream, Morgana?"

When his eyes swung back into focus, she found her faithful follower Daegal peering through the doorway, sincerely concerned. Just typical of her good fortune, to strike now when she was unnerved and unfocused. She could never thank her Lucky Stars enough…

"Daegal- I… uh, I… I think the sound might have come from outside…"

He shot her a searching look, but he nodded and left, taking the subtle hint not to investigate any further. Once he had carefully shut her door, she twisted her head round tentatively- only to recoil sharply when her eyes found Mordred's once more.

"What… do you want?"

The willowy, silvery phantom shrugged before chucking a few grape seeds into the fireplace.

"I don't know, really. Revenge, I suppose. I came fully prepared with a long, ominous speech- if you'd like to hear it?"

"Be my guest!"

"As obnoxious as always, Morgana…" Was there a note of sadness in his tone, she wondered with a stab of guilt…? "I could exact a terrible revenge on you, but then I remembered you are the Last High Priestess of the Old Religion ad lib. You will of course appreciate my reluctance to exact punishment on a woman who might harm me…"

"You are so kind…"

"Anyway, I decided that rather than conveniently deal with you myself, I would use my new-found powers to haunt you- that is to say, I wish to be a reminder of how you have wronged me for the indefinite future."

"You… you what?"

"You heard me, Morgana." Mordred's tiny smirk had disappeared entirely, a small hint of playfulness now completely overshadowed by a mask of cold fury. "When you left me to die in that Cave, you played the final straw. What are you? What have you become- a grotesque monster preoccupied with the death of your brother? Is this really worth losing your mind for? And to kill me in cold blood- I, your own brother?"

"You betrayed me! How can you express surprise when I do the same?"

"I betrayed you because your cause is wrong and twisted!"

"So you would prefer to see magic banished from the kingdom, our kind slaughtered at Arthur's behest and you forever relegated to the shadows? Is that what you want, Mordred?"

"The way you intend to bring magic back does nothing but turn Arthur's mind away from it…"

"So you prefer to hide, is that it?"

"That is not what I said- and I am not here to discuss the future of Albion. You are a scoundrel, Morgana- and a murderous one at that. I have watched your movements since the Cave of Venyth; not once did you show any remorse for my death! Well, by the time I have finished raking your conscience, you will be pleading for my clemency- and then we shall see whether you deserve it…"

"You're- you're mad… I could kill you with a flash of my eyes, you… Stay away from me, Mordred! I'll- I will tell the Dochraid, I'll-"

* * *

"-Morgana? Morgana!"

Her eyes flew open in alarm, only to find Eira peering down at her in concern. It was a brilliant morning, feeble sunlight splashing through her cobwebbed windows. She was completely alone, save for the other woman… She was wearing her healing bracelet and when frightened fingers reached up into her hair, it was to find the same old bone clasp sitting there snugly in amongst the wild tangles. Nothing had changed- neither did her body hurt from tripping over as she thought she had done…

"Was- was Daegal here last night?"

"Daegal? No, he sleeps in the East Wing, as always. I only came because I heard you crying out- I thought there was some disturbance… Morgana are you sure that-"

"I am fine. It is nothing. Leave me."

_Just a dream… it had all been a dream… _

* * *

_**Footnotes:**_

**(1)- Originally, Sir Gaheris was King Arthur's nephew, but since my King Arthur is still relatively young, no relationship between them is mentioned. More extensive details about his doings (including the generous act of beheading his own mother, Morgause...) can be found in Thomas Malory's "Morte D'Arthur".**

**(2)- A rebec was a small stringed instrument, believed to have been a predecessor to the violin.**

**(3)- Sir Dinadan was another Knight of The Round Table, known to be jovial and witty. My favourite line of his from the Lerner and Loewe stage musical "Camelot" when he is hating on Lancelot (LOL! I like him already!) "He probably WALKED across the Channel!"**

**(4)- Sir Bedevere- Knight of the Round Table, Arthur's marshal, and apparently the one who returned Excalibur to the Lady of the Lake.**

**(5)- A "pursuivant" is the old term for what we would call a sleuth, or detective. Comes from the French verb "pursuivre", meaning to pursue. I think this term is actually Elizabethan, if so, is a glaring anachronism. Don't kill me...**

* * *

The plot thickens next...


	3. Another Twist

**ANOTHER TWIST...**

**...ANOTHER TURN...**

* * *

Morgana did not dare venture from her bedroom for a full two days.

Whenever Eira poked her head round the door, it was to be chased away hastily. She insisted that she was in the best health possibly- only a little tired. She was not overly concerned whether Eira actually believed her- the girl knew better than most the value of holding her tongue still… even over glaring anomalies likes seeing Druids where they had not been, and asking whether her healing bracelet had slipped off her wrist during the night.

The Castle of Grinchingoul really was no place for her; it would have been wiser to choose more comfortable lodgings than this dreary, cobwebbed monstrosity looming into eternal winter air in the heart of The Wastelands south of Orkney and Camelot. Still, after a long year of rest and recuperation, she was growing rather fond of the place in her own morbid way. Dust, draughts and darkness suited her very well. She had discovered plenty of places to hide should the Castle be stormed, and the surrounding terrain provided excellent space for training her men. Best of all, she had brought magic back to Grinchingoul- right down to the smallest detail; candles revolved in mid-air, day to day chores were performed without manpower, and strange incantations filled the air.

From time to time, Morgana quietly admitted that she would be sorry to leave Grinchingoul for Camelot again.

The allure of her fort called to her two days after her nightmare. By now, she was determined to put the vision behind her entirely for good, and concentrate on the latest developments to her main aim. She washed, pulled on a new dress and brushed her hair- and afterwards, it was amazing how different she looked when she chased away her worries from her mind.

Today was going to be a productive day, she reasoned, opening her door and heading out for the dining Chambers. She expected Eira and Daegal to be there already, poring over copious maps along with several warlords and marshals. The conversational murmur cut off abruptly when she entered, all heads bowed low in her direction until she had been seated.

"Well? What news do you have for me today?"

"We have been studying the terrain around Grinchingoul and find it favourable to your purposes, my Lady- three caves in particular stand out from amongst the rest; these are-"

"Caves?! Why caves?"

"Shelter and ambush," Daegal added helpfully; "We know this terrain better than Arthur does; once we have at least two of these under out control, we can expect to overpower him."

"W-What… c-caves do you have in mind?"

Eira smoothly resumed the presentation; evidently, she had been practising this part for some time. "The Cave of Gedrun to the north- about three days from here, and the Cave of Weymouth- half a day's ride, but through some treacherous icy slopes. It is much larger, though."

A short silence followed, wherein Morgana's heart thumped inside her chest, awaiting that final, dreadful clause. When Eira did not add anything else, her mouth dropped open.

"Are those all the caves, then?"

"The best we could find, Morgana. Why- are you unhappy with our selection?"

"No! No, you have done well, Eira- we will go ahead with your… your suggestions. We will try for Weymouth, since it is closer. Ice we can deal with…"

It was slightly invigorating to feel her normal authoritativeness seeping back into her tone, disguising those wavers and cracks of before. She turned their attention to other affairs for the next hour, and by the time Daegal brought food and drink, it was a weak midday. Salted meat and bread did much to lift her spirits, then when she grew drowsy later in the day, she caressed her healing bracelet and headed off for bed.

No ghost haunted her sleep this time.

* * *

A young woman with hair the colour of treacle and sharp eyes was walking idly through long grass. She wore a full length cloak, carried two crossbows under one arm, and twirled a flower in her other hand. From time to time, she would lapse into a dreamy tune- whichever one she would pick up from the Camp. Iseldir played the rebec wonderfully, and she loved to spend long afternoons lying on her back, letting the round, melodious strings wash over her body, flow into her ears.

Today, however, she had wandered off for a walk. She loved the Camp; it was the home she had never known in real life, but sometimes, she grew a little lonely. It was probably unsafe, but she liked to pretend that she could flit far and wide at her leisure- gave her a sense of freedom denied her. Then again, if she didn't have magic, she would have lost her identity as a "wife" years ago. Living in secret was inconvenient, but at least she had the power to shape her own future with a simple flash of her eyes, and—

"_Kara?"_

Freezing in her steps, her hand clutched at her hair. Who was that? Calm- she had to think; did anyone at the Camp need her? No, they could have caught up with her- she hadn't strayed far. So… a new Druid from another settlement? She didn't know any, so that was out. Being too unaccustomed to the idea of friendship kept her alone most of the time. It was therefore unsettling to have someone able to penetrate her mind so quickly and with ease. But… surely that someone would have to be at the Camp?

"_I'm not at the Camp, Kara…"_

Friend or foe?

"_Friend… always."_

She felt her cheeks flush a little at the rich honey of this man's voice. He spoke as though he could see right into her soul- yet she had only ever allowed one man to know her intimately… Who did he say he was again?

"_Never mind that. I cannot return to you, anyway. I have been trying to reach you, but nothing would work, so…"_

She whipped her head from side to side, fingers tensing against her weapons. No matter how far she projected her thoughts across hill and plain, she could hear nothing echoing to her in response. Why wouldn't he just tell her who he was?

"_All in good time, Kara. Now, I need you to do something for me; you-"_

"_Hold on a minute- you breach my defences and expect me to carry out an errand for you? What am I, some kind of vassal?"_

"_I… I only come to you because I love you… But if it is too much for me to say, then-"_

"_Oh, God- Mordred?! Mordred! It's… it's really you…"_

* * *

"_Yes, I have heard of the Castle of Grinchingoul…"_

Of course she had, he remembered with an adoring smile; she had always been the better travelled of the two of them. Briefly, he remembered a younger version of himself being dragged along by the hand on another "expedition" regardless of the Druids warnings. They had always ended up, cut, bruised and exhausted, but she had never cared. In her eyes, rules were there to be broken, and laws to be viewed with contempt…

"The Castle of Grinchingoul… where Morgana lives. Looks like my suspicions of you paid off after all, Mordred…"

Mordred jumped violently, knocking several helmets onto the floor of the armory with a round of melodious clashing sounds.

"Merlin- thanks for the advance warning of your arrival…"

"Who is Kara?"

"She, uh… She… Look, it is really none of your business- and this is not what you think, Merlin- not at all. I… I didn't even know Morgana lived there!"

"You're lying. I have known it from the start. Well, if you don't want to explain to me, you can explain to Arthur-"

"No! No… P-Please, Merlin- trust me; I know what I am doing!"

"Oh, that was never in any doubt, Mordred- unfortunately, I seem to be the only one who can see you for the untrustworthy so-called Knight that you are. Nice, having a position so close to Arthur, isn't it? And using magic to speak to your accomplice, very clever Mordred! Top marks. Too bad someone had to interrupt all the-"

"—Mordred?"

"Yes, sire?"

Arthur stepped into the armoury and took a moment to study both of them. The atmosphere was close and prickly; the lack of smiles painfully apparent.

"Is… everything alright?" His tone didn't hold out much hope for the answer being "yes", but he was curious enough to ask. "Nothing… upsetting either of you… is there?"

"No, Sire," they replied simultaneously.

Arthur must have known that these men in particular were more than reasonably careful with their secrets- Mordred could see as much from his unconvinced expression. He preferred his life locked up in a chest, a cabinet and the key thrown away. He did not like being dissected and analysed, had always shied away from anything that might pick at his carefully constructed image. Glancing over at Merlin, he knew the warlock was thinking the same thing- but he was also aware that Arthur could not be held at bay with schoolboy excuses… He looked as though he wanted to provide evidence to the contrary, but thought better of it, closing his mouth.

"Mordred, training is starting in about five minutes. Basic defence warm-up, with special attention to thrusting, and then two hours with maces."

_Just like that, he moves back into the role of King and warrior… _Mordred nodded quickly and followed Arthur out of the armoury, still taking note of the tasks for the day. When they had turned a corner, the King cut himself off abruptly, which surprised the young Knight; Arthur was never spontaneous- he was precise and calculated. Everything was like battle tactics to him, so why was he—

"Do you and Merlin… have some kind of… history?"

_What? _ "Uh… history? No, Sire. I have never done anything wrong to him- always taken care to show him great courtesy, but still…" It wasn't technically untrue, but he wasn't being entirely honest. Yes he had known Merlin for years, but they had been on much better terms, until the same young man who had tended to his injuries had almost brought about his death. Little had changed since then, even if Merlin hadn't seized upon the opportunity as of yet. A pleasant thought…

"Because I have never seen him this ambivalent towards somebody. Well… I take that back, actually; there was Agravaine, but that was justified. Even I disliked him from the start. And before that there was Morgana…" Again, he trailed off, this time with wistful eyes. Mordred was fascinated by this in particular- of course, her half-brother had known her for much longer. Perhaps, he wondered, they had been friends- or almost like flesh and blood. It was the only way to explain why Arthur seemed… regretful of how she had turned out.

Although, he knew from his night-time excursions, that she had her reasons…

"…so I suppose in the end, that was justified. And way back then, there was this fawning idiot called Cornelius Sigan- now Merlin really hated him. Even beat the guy up in my presence!"

"No way!" Mordred replied, laughing.

"I couldn't believe it myself, one minute he was standing, the next, I was having to prevent daylight murder…"

* * *

Later that afternoon, Kara apparated behind a boulder of ice, just ten feet away from the Castle of Grinchingoul.

It seemed that Mordred had been interrupted from giving her instructions by the presence of none other than Emrys. Still, she was assured that the Great warlock was not going to make good his threat of revealing Mordred's actual plan- in fact, this Merlin didn't even know what it was!

She found herself chuckling quietly as she blew onto her fingers. He really was a clever boy; if only he weren't so introverted, he could do great things. She had to admit, his plan was highly risky and exhausting. A lot of magic was required and the kind of spells he had been using in order to effect those eerie visions was complex, with a high risk component. But so far, he had pulled it off well. Good for him. And for that reason, she would be happy to assist his desires in any way she could, even if he might never find her again…

Still, there would be the satisfaction of watching people who had hurt him be brought to their knees.

With a wicked grin, she pulled out her scrying bowl, and began to watch the goings on inside the Castle of Grinchingoul…

* * *

"I was thinking, Morgana… We ought to be very careful when travelling- even out on these plains."

"So what are you suggesting?"

"It is best we get some assurance from someone we can trust before setting out to prepare, someone who can keep an eye out for any… shall we say, unwanted visitors."

"Like who?"

"Arthur of course- but remember when your other brother broke in, pretended to befriend you, and then attempted to kill you? No, this time, Morgana, we should take precautions. I am going to visit the Dochraid at first light. She lives near the Cave of Venyth..."

"_I'll- I will tell the Dochraid, I'll-"_

"—and she will be able to-"

"Stop!" Morgana whispered, rising from her throne shakily. "Stop… Did you just mention, the… the Dochraid? We are going to tell her… just as I said in my nightmare…"

She cut herself off when she caught Eira's expression- an unspoken question. Once seated again, she played with her fingers, mumbling an explanation for her irrational outburst. Eira said nothing in response, and continued to plot aloud with occasional, reluctant input from Daegal. Morgana allowed herself to sink back into her reverie, her stupor that so helped calm her nerves every time. Castle of Venyth… just a coincidence. Just a coincidence. They had not planned to visit, so she could avoid the terrible conclusion of her vision… She gritted her teeth and forced herself to focus on what Eira was saying.

And regretted doing so the instant she turned back to face her accomplice.

"—And I was thinking, what splendid revenge if we lured Sir Mordred into a trap and you killed him, Morgana!"

* * *

**NOTES: Slightly shorter, but I added everything I wanted to, so no harm done...**


End file.
